


the sun's gonna rise again

by sonichallows



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Gallerist!David, M/M, Musician!Patrick, Mutual Pining, Songs From a Broken Chair AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-04-07 02:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonichallows/pseuds/sonichallows
Summary: Patrick Brewer is used to being bored romantically. David Rose is used to being treated like shit romantically. Little do they know, their paths are about to cross.Alternate universe where Patrick wrote Songs From a Broken Chair.





	1. Angels & Demons

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever posted, so I'm super nervous but I love the characters of Schitt's Creek too much to not write during hiatus.  
> We all know SFABC inside out by now, right? If not, go check out Noah Reid's music because it's amazing.
> 
> I know next to nothing about being a musician or owning a gallery, so the professional aspects to this are a shot in the dark (forgive me). There were originally going to be 5 chapters to this but chapter 1 turned into two chapters, so we'll see how it goes!
> 
> (Points to whoever picks up on all the references throughout)
> 
> *edit: sorry for any typos or mistakes*

“Pat, shouldn’t you be leaving?” 

Patrick rolls his eyes as he hears his girlfriend call across the apartment. 

“Why do you assume I can’t keep time, Rach?” he responds, picking up his guitar case from beside the front door. Rachel finds him and raises her eyebrows when she sees the case in his hand.

“Because you don’t wear a watch,” she says, smiling grimly, patting his arm.  
~  
The Misty Elm is as busy as Patrick expects it to be. The Friday night dinner crowd has the few staff on shift skilfully bustling through the maze of tables and chairs. Patrick winds his way to the stage, crowded off into a dimly lit corner.

He waves at Jocelyn when he spots her and she smiles, waving back. 

“Hi, Patrick!”  
Patrick knows that since she is co-owner of the restaurant, the wave is enough of a signal for him to start setting up. He has gigs here from time to time and feels familiar enough with the drill to proceed without further invitation.

The Misty Elm owners and regular customers know him well enough that they don’t mind if he leans away from covers every now and then. Patrick knows he’s lucky to have an audience for his original songs, not that he has many to showcase. The creative block is hitting hard, and Patrick hates that he can’t just push through it in a day and get back to composing. Performing is a good outlet for frustration, though.

“All right, good evening everybody,” Patrick says, adjusting the microphones after he tunes his guitar. “How are we all doing tonight? I’m your live musician for the evening, I hope you’re all enjoying your meals. And uh, let’s get this night started.” 

Patrick makes it halfway through his set before he needs to take a break. There are only so many covers of classic folk songs any one person can stand. Despite the chill outside, Patrick finds himself burning up under his organic wool sweater. He tugs it past his shoulders, revealing a light blue button-up underneath. 

Taking a lengthy draw from his water bottle, Patrick’s gaze catches on a man sitting alone to the left of the stage. His dark features are flatteringly accentuated by the underwhelming lighting of the dining area.

They make eye contact and Patrick’s respiratory system takes a hit. He takes a second to cap the bottle before chancing another look. The man’s gaze is still on Patrick. He inhales shakily, hoping to hell that isn’t making a disastrous mess of his performance.

“Finishing up the set tonight with a song called ‘Angels & Demons’,” Patrick says, low enough to be heard without drawing too much attention. “Thanks to Jocelyn and Roland for having me, and don’t forget to tip the staff for their amazing work.”

Patrick feels just as warm as he did before, though it may be because a certain set of curious eyes hasn’t looked away from him.

/ Oh, lord, have mercy they takin’ hold  
The old kind of spirit from down below  
You can have my money don’t take my soul  
Singing lord have mercy won’t save you though /

Patrick wonders why this man is dining alone. Or rather, drinking alone.  
But why should he care? People dine alone all the time; it’s not some ground-breaking notion. 

/ I swear to god I’ll never tell  
But you still might hear me if you listen well  
Drowning in the sound of the ringing bells  
Ooh, god damn it I’m going to hell /

The heat is clearly getting to his head, and Patrick decides to wrap up for the night. He strums a short chord and leans forward, wincing at the feedback from his microphone.

“Thank you, goodnight.”

Patrick gathers his things together, snapping his guitar into its case, and steps down from the stage. 

He tries not to look, he really does, but Patrick’s eyes are drawn back to the man with the leather jacket and the steady gaze. He looks to be finishing off his drink, about to leave. Their eyes meet again, and Patrick watches in fascination as a tiny, half-smile forms on the stranger’s face. It isn’t enough to show any real emotion but Patrick wonders what kind of smile would, and if maybe he’d like to see it.

His curiosity is almost strong enough to propel him over to initiate a conversation, but just as Patrick is gathering the courage, a man dressed in what appears to be a messily knitted throw rug walks up behind Leather Jacket, placing a hand over his shoulder. Patrick watches as the two converse and share a cheek kiss before they turn to leave.

Patrick blinks, turns, and stalks out of the room into the brisk air of the night, unsure of how he feels or why he feels anything at all. He doesn’t notice the lingering look that is sent his way from the other side of the room before the other two men exit The Misty Elm to the footpath outside.

~ 

Patrick stirs awake and the first thing he sees are the bright eyes that met his from across the restaurant last night.

Wait. 

What?

He blinks his eyes open and finds himself in bed with Rachel.

Obviously. Because he lives with her and they’re in a serious relationship and he should not be thinking about some, admittedly intriguing, stranger from the night before. Shaking the memory from his mind, Patrick rises to start the day.

 

“Okay, I have to jet or I’ll run into the worst of the traffic,” Rachel says. She kisses the top of Patrick’s head on her way out. “See you later!”

“All right, have a good-”

The door closes.

“-day.”  
Patrick usually stays in to work on his music. He swallows the remains of his tea, now bordering on cold. He’s been staring at a blank page for twenty minutes and coming up empty. He tries tapping out a rhythm on the table with his fingers, but it just sounds like…well, tapping.

Patrick grabs a jacket and his notebook and almost slams the door as he steps outside. Hopefully a walk will clear his head and maybe spark some inspiration from sources other than his off-white apartment interior.

After wandering through his favourite park spots, where the trees flow in the breeze and the people all walk slow, the inspiration still hasn’t hit. Glancing across the road, Patrick’s attention is drawn to a building labelled Rose Gallery. It must be new, and there is never a bad time to discover new art, Patrick thinks.

It’s quiet inside, with only a handful of people wandering through the rooms. Upon entering, Patrick finds that the works are…bold, to say the least. He stops in one room full of modern sculptures that he’s not too sure he wants to understand. 

Some pieces look to be forest or nature themed, though he has difficulty telling whether it’s meant to be erotic or not. A large statue takes up the centre of the floor space. It seems to be a deer and foal standing side by side, though it could also be a twisted tree trunk, he thinks, head tiled to the side.

“That’s one of our more striking sculpted pieces,” a soft voice behind him says, causing Patrick to spin around.

“Oh, I didn’t realise anyone was…” Patrick’s brain decides it doesn’t care about finding words to finish that sentence, as it is far more occupied with the man standing in from of him. The man who has been flickering in and out of Patrick’s mind all morning.

He is wearing a white collared button up with a black pattern that reminds Patrick of pencil scribbles he used to do on paper in primary school.

“Oh, my god…”

“I saw you at The Misty Elm last night, right?” Patrick says, extending a hand. “Hi, uh, Patrick.”

“My name isn’t Patrick.”

“Right, mine is, though,” Patrick clarifies, grinning, as they shake hands.

“Oh, um. David Rose, I own the gallery. And yes, I think I might have been there last night.”

“You don’t know for sure?”

“Okay—" David squints, waving a hand in front of him—“yes, I was there, and so were you and this whole encounter has been really fun for me, thank you, but I have a demonstrative commentary performer coming in that I have to meet, so.”

“A demonstrative…?”

“Commentary performer, yes, so enjoy the sculptures and I’m going to just, go now.” He gestures to leave, backing out of the room. “Your singing was really great last night. Um. Yeah.”

Patrick knows it’s stupid to let a throw-away compliment affect him, but for some reason David’s praise has him smiling for longer than is probably appropriate.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to the empty room.

Patrick considers taking a seat in the sculpture room, but he isn’t sure how long he can stand to share a space with the deer-foal-tree trunk centrepiece. Eventually he settles on a bench in a room full of abstract, silver and gold themed paintings. For the first time today, Patrick has no trouble with his lyrics. 

When he finally heads home, Patrick has pages full of thoughts that he can’t wait to put to music. Bursting through the door, he makes a beeline for his guitar. He only has a chance to test out a few chords before Rachel arrives home.

“Look at you, Mr. Productive,” she says in reference to his playing. She leans in to kiss his cheek before heading toward the kitchen. “Any chance there’s something to eat? I wouldn’t ask, but I had the longest day at school. Connor stirred up some drama about Ronnie, and of course that affected their seating arrangements with Ray, Robert and Gwen. Why did I sign up to teach teenagers, again?”

Patrick gives a wry chuckle but doesn’t move from his position.

“Sorry, I was so busy with this song today that I didn’t get a chance to make anything.”

“Guess we’ll order in, then,” Rachel sighs.

Patrick doesn’t understand why her tone irritates him, but it does. He knows logically that she’s tired and doesn’t mean anything by sighing. Maybe he is more exhausted than he realised. Patrick strums a few more chords before deciding to call it a day, his wave of creativity crashing to shore.

As he lies in bed that night, the thought of returning to David Rose’s gallery has him feeling wide awake. It isn’t until much later that he drifts to sleep, mind replaying their conversation from today one last time.

"Your singing was really great."

~

Patrick goes back to the gallery the next day, and the next. And the next. 

It’s very inspiring to be surrounded by creative works. It absolutely has nothing to do with a tall, flustered gallery owner that may or may not be there every day.  
Patrick is partly motivated to write because something in him really wants David to hear him sing again. Anything he can do to make David look at him the way he had…it would be worth the effort.

David is standing in the room opposite Patrick. He has an animated way of talking that Patrick has never seen before. He watches David gesture wildly as he explains something to a group of visitors. Sunrays stream in from a window and catch David’s rings in light, drawing Patrick’s attention fully to his hands. He wonders what David’s strong, gentle fingers would feel like against his skin; touching his shoulders or the back of his neck. 

Which, okay, might be a little too intense for Patrick to handle right now. David is handsome, he knows, but it isn’t a big deal. Patrick has eyes. He’s allowed to recognise that David is attractive without it meaning anything.

“Back again, huh?”

Patrick blinks out of his daze, smiling when he registers that David is speaking to him.

“Well, the thing about this gallery of yours, David, is the art’s different in every room, and there are a lot of rooms, which means I have a lot of different things to see, so…”

“Hence the daily visits, yeah.” David finishes for him, nodding slightly. “I mean, I’m not surprised; the art is unmatched in its diversity and quality here.”

“Mm, I have yet to see anywhere else with quite so many ostrich inspired works.”

“I don’t know if you’re trying to insinuate something,” David says, waving a finger through the air to emphasise his words. Patrick’s eyes flicker to the glinting rings again. “But ostriches are very majestic creatures that deserve nothing less than respect.”

“Ah,” Patrick nods. “I don’t know how I was so blind before, but I definitely see it now.” 

David narrows his eyes.

“Nothing but respect,” Patrick assures him. David accepts the statement, even if he isn’t fully convinced.

“Mm-hm. What are you working on?” he asks, indicating Patrick’s notes.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just some song lyrics,” he shrugs. David’s eyebrows raise.

“You write music?”

“Yeah, I arrange covers sometimes but mostly original stuff,” Patrick says, carefully covering the visible writing with his hands. He doesn’t even let Rachel read his drafts; it would be infinitely embarrassing for his rough work to be seen by David Rose.

“Wow,” David looks genuinely impressed and Patrick can’t stop himself from smiling. “So, the other night, was some of that your own music?”

“Yeah,” Patrick laughs.

“Oh,” David nods, visibly processing this new information. David lets almost everything he’s feeling play across his face and Patrick finds it incredibly endearing. Or, interesting, because you don’t always find people that open with their body expression.

But maybe it is a little bit endearing. As Patrick comes to this realisation, David starts wrapping up their conversation.

“Well, uh, I have a few things to organise, but I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he jokes.

“If you’re lucky,” Patrick quips.

David lets a tiny smirk flicker across his face.

“Hm.”

And then Patrick is alone again with his thoughts and the uncomfortably ostentatious ostriches.


	2. Mostly to Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve never heard you play like that.”
> 
> Patrick exhales a quick laugh but doesn’t offer any words.
> 
> “What’s it about?” Rachel prompts.
> 
> “Uh…” Patrick frowns. He feels like his heart is going to burst through his chest and spill his secrets to the universe. 
> 
> “Patrick?” Rachel asks, quietly. “Is everything okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually write in past tense but this fic decided it wanted to be in present tense, so if I missed any accidental past tense during my edit, I apologise.
> 
> You ever look at a piece of writing for so long that the words no longer look like words? Yeah. Me too.

Patrick is overwhelmed. What with the creative inspiration he's had a burst of recently, combined with how he feels when he's in the vicinity of David Rose, he thinks it’s time to take a day away from reality and go for a hike.

He might be concerned about his medical health (his heart rate increase and near-constant blushing around David) if he weren't already aware of what it meant. 

Patrick had never truly let himself admit that he might be attracted to anyone other than Rachel. They'd been together since high school, but Patrick realised a couple of years out of school that perhaps he and Rachel had gotten together for the wrong reasons. 

They hit college. On his first day, Patrick saw a couple – boyfriends – holding hands on a walk across campus. He pretended it didn’t make his soul ache.

It was a busy time, with work and study and suddenly being hyper-aware of the smallest touches he shared with men. Due to the increased stress he felt emotionally and mentally, Patrick decided to end things with Rachel.

The break from dating helped them both. Patrick got his Bachelor of Music Composition. Rachel got her teaching degree. 

The loneliness of that first year eventually caught up to him, so when Rachel asked if they could try to fix things between them, he had agreed. Patrick knew things weren't perfect with Rachel, but until he met David, he hadn't understood quite how wrong it all was.

So, Patrick goes on a hike.

Melodies shared between birds across the forest canopy calm his heartbeat. Fresh air combined with the shaded wonder of undisturbed nature creates a powerful remedy for stress. 

When he reaches the lookout point along the trail, Patrick lets himself rest. 

He lets himself breathe.

And finally, looking out over the endless landscape, Patrick lets himself admit that he is bored romantically. He always has been.

Patrick knew he could be attracted to men, but he always hoped that maybe he was attracted to women, too, because wouldn't life be that much easier if he was? 

Sitting alone at the lookout, Patrick realises that life might be a hell of a lot more worthwhile if he lets himself exist without terms and conditions. Love isn't supposed to be obligatory and underwhelming. Love is supposed to be exciting and tender and as natural as breathing. Yes, there’s hard work involved, but for someone you care about it should be worth the effort. He doesn’t feel that with Rachel. 

Patrick lets himself break; just enough that he doesn’t dissolve completely. Writing songs is a form of expression that he really needs right now. Sometimes the only thing getting him through the day is music.  
~  
Patrick heads home, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts all trying to articulate what’s in his heart.

He sits at his piano and thinks about David. He thinks about Rachel. He thinks about his life up until this point; the decisions he’s made, the people he’s let in or pushed away. Patrick thinks about why he feels different now. Applying pen to paper, he allows everything that’s bottled up inside him to spill onto the page.

And for the first time in a while, he finishes a song. 

When Rachel arrives home hours later, she finds him in the living room with a single lamp light on, perched in front of their piano. His fingers rest along the delicate keys.  
Rachel smiles, leaning against the doorway. He hasn’t noticed her yet. She loves catching him in moments where he is entirely wrapped up in music. He begins to play.

/ Well it's mostly in the morning  
When your eyes ain't opening  
And it's mostly that you won't even try

And it's mostly in the gutter  
With your voice broke, you sing  
And it's mostly to yourself that you lie

You say, "fuck it man, you're better off, it's better this way  
You're mostly in the shadows, and that's fine."  
Or you say, "fuck it man, you're not fine  
But you're doing it your way."  
And it's mostly to yourself that you lie  
It's mostly to yourself that you lie /

Rachel often tends to lose herself in the serenade of his voice, but tonight is different. Patrick is singing with so much of himself; more than she’s heard before.

/ 'Cause when it's quiet and you're reminded of all the things that you won't do  
You just let 'em pass you by  
You reach halfway and say, 'fuck it man, you tried.' /

Patrick’s voice travels gently through the room, but there is an underlying urgency to how he almost chokes on the words.

/ And you let yourself off easy  
And when your heart is on the ground  
You say this won't last forever, just give it time  
But time keeps moving forward  
And you mostly come around  
But it’s mostly to yourself that you lie  
It's mostly to yourself that you lie /

His voice strains on the last line. Rachel watches as his arms drop to his lap, head tilted forward, eyes closed. A flicker of worry passes through her. 

“Hey, you.”

“Oh, hey.” Patrick lifts his head. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That was beautiful,” she says, joining him on the stool. “I’ve never heard you play like that.”

Patrick exhales a quick laugh but doesn’t offer any words.

“What’s it about?” Rachel prompts.

“Uh…” Patrick frowns. He feels like his heart is going to burst through his chest and spill his secrets to the universe. 

“Patrick?” Rachel asks, quietly. “Is everything okay?”

He sighs, forcing the threat of tears to stay back.

“If I said it’s something personal that I can’t talk about, would- would you, um, be able to accept that?”

Rachel looks at him for a tense moment. 

“Patrick, I understand wanting to keep some things to yourself, I really do. But from the way you played that song? This doesn’t seem like just a small thing that can, I don’t know, be shoved in a box and forgotten about.”

Hearing it spoken out loud makes Patrick realise how stupid he was to even ask.

“If this relationship is going to work, we can’t keep secrets from each other,” Rachel reasons.

Patrick nods. He knows that; he just really did not want to admit it to himself. He had been trying so hard to keep them together, but maybe it was never going to work. Continuing to live a lie wouldn’t be fair on either of them. Patrick takes a deep breath.

“You’re right,” he starts. “You’re right, Rachel, I can’t keep this up.” 

He takes her hands in his and faces her. “Where to start? Uh, I guess you picked up on the lyrics being kind of heavier than usual. The thing is, I recently, well, met someone…”

Rachel tenses, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“And that person has made me realise that I’ve been keeping something…” he falters. The words are harder to say out loud than they were to admit internally.

Patrick can’t fight back the tears anymore. Rachel looks confused more than sad at this point and Patrick wants to warp into another dimension; preferably one where he never has to break up with anybody ever again.

“Rachel, I, I am attracted to men. I think…only to men.”

“Oh.”

“You have no idea how hard I tried to convince myself that things felt right with you.”

“So, you aren’t seeing someone else?”

“What? No. I could never do that.”

“But…you could force yourself to stay with me even though you knew you didn’t feel how I felt about you?”

Shame, frustration and anger bubble in Patrick’s bloodstream. It courses through his body, filling his soul. Mostly, though, he feels an overwhelming sadness at their situation.  
Rachel is crying, now, too. There is a long minute; long enough for the panic inside Patrick to spread, compressing his heart so tightly he thinks it might smash into a thousand pieces.

“Okay, Patrick. I need you to hear me when I say this,” Rachel starts, inhaling deeply. “I love you. I have since we started dating. That’s not going to change, and you need to know that I always want you to be happy and fulfilled in your life, okay? I want you to be who you are. And if that means we…” she stops, unable to articulate their reality just yet. “Then that’s just how it has to be.”

It takes a moment for her words to process in Patrick’s head. His feelings are all knotted together and it’s affecting his ability to think.

“Wait, really? You don’t want to, like, kick me out of the country and never see or hear from me again?”

“A little,” she laughs, face full of tears. “But I heard you singing just now. And I guess I knew that something’s been off between us. I’m- I’m actually a bit relieved to finally know why. This is too real for me to let my feelings get in the way of who you are.”

Patrick shakes his head.

“You’re really important to me, Rachel. Always will be.”

“Yeah, you too.”

They spend the rest of the night talking, crying and eating leftover pizza at 3:00 in the morning because it’s a very emotional time and they deserve middle-of-the-night pizza.

When morning rolls around, Rachel decides to call in sick at work and spend the day with her friend Twyla. Patrick is grateful for her decision, and for her entire reaction during this whole night.

Patrick is used to spending his days alone in the apartment but today the quiet is emptier than usual. He is sorely tempted to rush out to Rose Gallery as soon as it opens, but he forces himself to take at least a day to process everything from the night before. Thinking of Rachel as his ex-girlfriend is too much for this early in the day.  
Patrick switches off his phone as he sinks into bed, welcoming long-overdue sleep.

~

Patrick wakes to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, and an empty stomach. 

After running through his hygiene routine, he switches his phone back on to see which nearby restaurants can deliver food. When the screen lights up, there is a text and three voice messages.

Unlocking the phone, Patrick sees that Rachel messaged him once about staying the night with Twyla.

"Of course, whatever you need."

Patrick stops himself from typing “miss you” to the end of his reply. He does miss her, but not romantically. Shaking off the strangeness of freely admitting to how he feels, Patrick sends the short message.

The first voicemail is from an unknown number:

"Hi, uh, is this Patrick? I found your number through your website, which sounds creepier than it felt at the time, um…I promise I’m not a cyber stalker. Which is what a cyber stalker would say, oh god, okay, could you do me a favour and delete this and pretend you never got it? Great."

Patrick recognises the voice as belonging to David Rose. He can’t think what possible reason David would have to call him. Patrick opens the next voicemail.

"Oh, by the way, it’s David. Rose. From Rose Gallery. I think I forgot to mention that. Uh. Yeah, I’m just calling because I was wondering if you might be interested in performing here one night? I totally understand if you can’t, but I thought I would ask because, you know. You sing and…have a guitar. So. Just let me know by Wednesday if you’re interested and we can figure out details from there. Thanks. Ciao!"

Patrick isn’t sure when he started smiling but he can’t bring himself to stop when he opens the last recording.

"So, it’s…it’s me again. I realised I didn’t tell you why you’d be performing at the gallery. It’s just, I’m having a few promotional events over the next couple of months, which I decided on my own because publicity is always a good thing—"

Patrick hears another voice in the background.

"Ugh! Stop taking credit for my ideas, David!"

"Shush, Alexis, I’m on! The phone! Anyway, I thought it might be beneficial to both of us if you played, because musicians need publicity, too, right? And you- your voice is…um…good. So, no pressure either way, but just let me know! Okay. Thanks. Bye. Patrick."

Alexis chimes in again just before the message cuts off:

"Ciao!"

Patrick isn’t entirely sure what just happened. He orders food - thankfully there are several restaurants to choose from - before playing the messages again.

And again, simply to get a good idea of what David is asking.

And maybe a little bit to hear his voice. Patrick can easily picture David’s expressions as he rambles in the recorded messages. Patrick saves his number, deciding to give David an answer in person the next day.

A gig could be good for him. The thought of performing in front of David again has Patrick’s heart racing. The way David had watched him that first night at the restaurant…  
Well, more of that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. 

~

Patrick wants to go to David’s gallery the next morning, but he doesn’t anticipate the hangover of emotions that carry from his breakup with Rachel. The permanence of it is new, but not unwelcome. Patrick allows himself another day at the apartment.

Rachel is the only person he’s had a relationship with that lasted several years. Not having her around is a bigger adjustment than he had been prepared for, but he also finds that he isn’t necessarily heartbroken. It’s more that he is exhausted. And relieved. And lonely. 

He thinks about David. Ridiculous, handsome, over-the-top, curious, style-confident David. The man with a voice that spurs Patrick’s fantasies, and eyes that mess with the rhythm of his pulse.

~ 

Patrick’s footsteps echo as he passes into the first painting room of Rose Gallery. Nobody is around, which Patrick would find odd except that it’s exactly three minutes past the opening time, so it is very likely that he’s the first person there.

Aside from David Rose himself, he notes, spotting David’s form in the next room. He is busy scribbling on a clipboard and doesn’t notice Patrick right away. As soon as he does, though, David’s eyes scan down Patrick’s frame and linger a few times on their path back up to his face. Patrick squirms under his gaze.

He takes a moment to remember how breathing works. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Easier to do when he’s not being closely observed by a beautiful man in sweater that looks too soft to be real.

Patrick is sure the heat rising in his cheeks is blatantly visible, but he clears his throat and steps into the room fully.

“Hi.”

David is being deliberate and bold with his eye contact today and Patrick might just lose his entire cool if he doesn’t stop that immediately.

“Hi,” David murmurs, his lips pulling softly to the side, attempting to contain a full smile.

“Um, I got your messages,” Patrick says. David grimaces. “And I should be available to perform at your publicity event, uh, if- if you haven’t found someone else?”

David looks shamelessly pleased by Patrick’s words.

“Oh good, okay,” he says, rolling his head back and closing his eyes briefly. “For a minute I was worried that I might have scared you away for good.”

“Lucky for you, I don’t scare easily,” Patrick replies, looking at the predatory bird-themed art surrounding them. The art in David’s gallery hadn’t kept Patrick away, so he was fairly confident that nothing else could.

“Oh?” David takes a step forward, keeping their eye contact steady.

“Uh-huh,” Patrick breathes, unable to produce anything more coherent. It’s hard to talk or think clearly when David Rose is confidently advancing on you. 

“Not even if I do this?” David seems to be grappling with the concept of breathing as well. It makes Patrick feel better for all of two seconds before he feels a warm, cautious hand brush across his cheek, both steadying them in the moment and throwing Patrick’s balance entirely off kilter.

He thinks David can probably hear his heart trying to beat out of his chest. Looking into David’s eyes, Patrick finds they are unmistakably focussed on his lips.

The room heats up impossibly fast.

Patrick thinks he might burn up right here in front of David and to be honest, he’s okay with that. Before Patrick has a chance to burst into flames, David has closed the remaining space between them. Their lips meet, and oh, Patrick was wrong about catching fire. He isn’t burning up; he’s melting.

Patrick reaches forward and grips onto David’s waist, anchoring himself. Patrick is too occupied with the feel of David’s mouth moving against his to register much beyond the feel of rings at the back of his neck. The kiss is warm and inviting. Patrick has never experienced anything so electrifying and comforting at the same time. He thinks his knees might give way, which would be more concerning if David weren’t caressing him into the moment with his tongue. They break apart and even though Patrick fills his lungs with air, he still feels breathless. 

Patrick jerks awake, chest heaving.

Holy mother of fuck.

It takes a couple of minutes for Patrick to fully convince himself and his dick that he had, in fact, been dreaming and not living out the reality that he desperately craves.  
Groaning, Patrick drags himself out of bed. He isn’t sure how to face David in person today if all he’ll be thinking about is kissing him. But then, the idea of not seeing David is much worse, so Patrick can handle it.

Hopefully.

If crushes are always like this, Patrick thinks he finally understands why everybody curses them.


	3. Apollo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kazoo?”
> 
> Patrick locates the tiny instrument on top of his fireplace mantle and picks it up. He plays a few triumphant doots, to David’s absolute horror.
> 
> “I see. So that’s…I’m going to go ahead and make the executive decision not to include any of that,” he waves a hand in Patrick’s direction, “At the event.”
> 
> “Ahh, guess I’ll have to scrap everything and start over, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been way longer than I anticipated for this update, but *john mulaney voice* you know, life?

Patrick can’t help the hum of jitters vibrating through his body as he waits at the local Elm Blossom Café booth.

His phone tells him it is 9:56am. He has four minutes until he can see David again in person and properly hold a conversation, unlike the hectic craze of yesterday’s meeting.  
He had found David to tell him he could sign up for the upcoming performance, but that was almost all he had a chance to say. David’s boyfriend had shown up to whisk him off somewhere pretentious-sounding; “a modern take on a period-centric chartreuse springtime photoshoot”. Patrick had no clue what that meant, but David had taken the time to at least schedule a proper meeting time with Patrick so they could discuss the details of the publicity event. 

Patrick’s leg bounces uncontrollably beneath the table. What if David forgets about the meeting and doesn’t show? 

Checking his phone again, Patrick watches as 10:00 ticks over to 10:01. 

10:03.

Maybe he’s too busy with his boyfriend’s photoshoot again today and Patrick will have spent his morning feeling nervous for no good reason.

10:05.

David might have just decided the whole ‘involving Patrick at the event’ thing was more trouble than it was worth and that he had better things to do. As this thought passes through Patrick’s mind, David breezes through the door. His cheeks are a pretty windswept pink, his hair a little out of place. Patrick allows himself a second to drink in the sight of him – David may not know yet, but he is the most beautiful work of art Rose Gallery has ever had. Patrick waves him over.

“Hi,” David breathes, sliding in across from Patrick.

“Morning,” Patrick says through a smile.

“You haven’t ordered?”

“I was under the impression that it’s rude to order food before company arrives,” Patrick explains.

David takes a second to digest the notion. Patrick watches as he hums, clearly unsure of how to respond. He wonders whether anybody has extended this small courtesy to David before, forcing down the spark of anger that thought ignites in his stomach.

They both order drinks and Patrick takes a mental note of David’s unique order. Not that he has any reason to think he’ll need it, but it’s a little exciting to imagine David’s surprise if he ever flawlessly recites it one day.

“Thank you for agreeing to do this,” David says, sipping at his caramel-macchiato-skim-with-two-sweeteners-and-a-sprinkle-of-cocoa-powder. “I know it’s kind of out of nowhere, but my sister Alexis has to do this project for college, and she decided to rope me into it. Not that publicity will be bad for the gallery, it’s just,” David rolls his eyes, “you know, little sisters.”

“It’s fine,” Patrick assures him. “I could use the exposure.”

David chokes a bit on his coffee but tries to muffle it, clearing his throat. Realising his word choice could have been better, Patrick hides behind his tea to regain some composure.  
“My-my music, that is. What kind of event is this going to be, exactly?” he asks. “Just so I know what kind of songs to play, because I don’t want to bring a set of Carly Rae Jepsen covers if it's going to be a death metal audience, you know?”

“Um, well, the theme is very much in keeping with the overall experience of the gallery. I’m sure you’ve picked up on the vibe. It’s going to be an artistic encapsulation of earthy tones and the whole natural portrayal of an empowered, yet powerless, existence.” David’s hands were up in the air gesturing, as usual. Patrick pulled his eyes away.

“Huh,” Patrick says, grinning through the hand that is partially covering his mouth. “Haven’t decided yet, then?”

David’s face contorts into confused offence.

“Mm, I thought that was a pretty clear concept?”

“Sure, sure,” Patrick says, physically unable to keep the smile off his face. “I’m not exactly sold on how to translate that into music but I’ll, uh, figure something out. When exactly is this all happening?”

“Roughly two months, if Alexis is as organised as she claims to be.”

Two months. Patrick will get to see David for at least another two months. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Keep the conversation going. Now is not the time for Patrick’s crush to be made obvious.

“Will your sister be there?”

Patrick fights the urge to facepalm. Will his sister be there? That’s not the path he wants David to think he’s going down, but they’re in it now. Damn it.

“Seeing as it’s her project, I would assume she’ll be present but there’s really no guaranteeing with her,” David says. “My friend Stevie, and um, a photographer I know will also be there.”

“Oh, is that the guy who was talking about the uh…springtime history photoshoot? Sebastien?”

David nods. His eyes crinkle at the way Patrick refers to the theme.

A tiny bubble of curiosity rises in Patrick. David had referred to the photographer as someone he knew but hadn’t disclosed that they were seeing each other. Patrick already knew they were, and he knows it’s none of his business, but he clings to the hope it sparks inside him.

“How did that end up going?”

David fiddles with a napkin on the table. “It was fine. We got all the shots he needed. I think. Anyway, um, how is…your…music?”

“How is my music?” Patrick repeats, voice high as he tries not to laugh. “Good, yeah. It’s good.” He recalls the song he played after his hike. “Well, I mean, it’s…”

How can Patrick articulate that he’s in one of the most productive places in his life professionally but also one of the most emotionally confusing, and due to both of those things he’s freshly out of long-term relationship?

David must sense that Patrick’s mood is plunging because he saves Patrick from having to finish.

“You don’t have to play original songs if that’s going to be an issue. But I should warn you, I’ll need a very specific selection of covers if you’re going to be taking that option.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Patrick assures David. “I’ll get the songs done.”

“Okay.”

David’s lips twist to the side in a tiny, happy expression. Patrick wants to see it again, and he’s going to do everything he can to make it happen.

~

Vvvt vvt. Vvvt vvt.

Patrick’s pocket vibrates. He draws his phone out, and upon seeing the caller ID takes three clumsy attempts to slide a finger across the screen to answer the call. Not at all embarrassing.

“David?”

“Patrick.”

“Hi.”

“Hi. Um, I know we agreed to a weekly progress report meeting on the preparation for the publicity event, but something came up on Saturday and I won’t be able to make it this week.”

“Oh.”

“And I would re-schedule it for another day, but I’m booked up with some travel arrangements to Toronto and New York and it looks like the only time I have free is tonight. I won’t be able to shift anything.”

“Oh. That’s—”

“Sorry to mess things up. But we can have a longer meeting next week, to go over any extra information?”

“Sure, we could do that.” Patrick imagines waiting until next Saturday to see David. Not ideal. “Or, hey…I’m free tonight as well, to do anything, if that would be a possibility.”

To do anything. Nice and subtle, Patrick thinks, wincing at himself.

“Won’t the café be closed?”

Patrick exhales a tiny laugh. “Yeah, but my apartment has a 24/7 opening hours policy when it comes to discussing publicity events.”

There’s a pause. Patrick wishes he could see David’s face, get a sense of his reaction.

“Okay, sure, let’s- we can do that. If it’s not an imposition?”

“No, no, not at all. I’ll text you the address. See you here around 8:00 o’clock?”

“Okay. 8:00 o’clock.”

~

Patrick has a few hours to prepare to see David, which should be more than enough time except that David will be…here. At Patrick’s apartment. Where he lives. In his space.  
He’ll be able to see all of Patrick’s framed memories, his instruments, his collection of baseball caps. What if he hates the décor? What if it’s too small? What if David takes one look at the place and changes his mind about their arrangement? 

If David is that shallow, Patrick supposes he would prefer to know about it now rather than later.

Patrick busies himself with tidying. Rachel came by to collect her things a few days after their conversation, so he’s had time to adjust to living in a space that is just for him. It’s strange, but exciting too. 

Cleaning doesn’t take long, and Patrick fills the remainder of his time by tuning up his instruments. 

He might have missed the cautious knocking on the front door, had he not subconsciously been hyper-tuned-in to any sounds that could indicate David’s arrival.  
Patrick safely sets his accordion down and shakes out some nerves before opening the door.

“David, hey, come in,” Patrick steps to the side. David is carrying a duffel bag and Patrick’s brain short-circuits. 

“This is nice.”

Duffel bag. Duffel bag. Duffel bag?

“I didn’t realise you played so many instruments.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Guitar, piano, accordion, ukulele, harmonica…kazoo.”

“Kazoo?”

Patrick locates the tiny instrument on top of his fireplace mantle and picks it up. He plays a few triumphant doots, to David’s absolute horror.

“I see. So that’s…I’m going to go ahead and make the executive decision not to include any of that,” he waves a hand in Patrick’s direction, “At the event.”

“Ahh, guess I’ll have to scrap everything and start over, then.”

David’s mouth twists into that lopsided smile. Patrick is stupidly proud of himself for being responsible for it.

“I hope for both of our sakes that you’re joking.”

“I hope that you’re always this punctual,” Patrick replies, having noticed David arrived at exactly 8:00 o’clock.

David doesn’t say anything, but he ducks his head and turns to inspect Patrick’s photos instead. 

Duffel bag…

“Can I get you something to drink?”

David is holding a framed picture of Patrick standing with his parents at his graduation. 

“When was this taken?”

Patrick pours two scotches on the rocks and glances at the frame. “Last year of college. I don’t know where I’d be without my parents. They’ve supported me through everything.”  
David says nothing but accepts the drink. 

“Did you do the whole college experience?”

David shakes his head. “My parents didn’t really…they were busy, and Alexis was always caught up in some overseas nightmare and, um. It just wasn’t the right time for studying.”

Patrick nodded his acknowledgement, sensing there was an ocean of history to the Rose family and David had merely shared the surface with him. 

“Look at where you are now,” Patrick said. “Owner of the most interesting art gallery in town, working with your sister, expanding your brand.”

“Picture of success, right?”

Patrick paused. He didn’t want to say anything that might cause David to throw up his walls, but he so desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. What he was feeling. He looked again at the bag David had brought with him. This time, David noticed.

“Uh, Sebastien is coming by to pick me up after this.” He looked almost apologetic. “Like I said, set travel arrangements.”

“Right,” Patrick said, his curiosity a skipped stone sinking to the murky depths of clarity. “Right. Shall we start this meeting?” He lifted the kazoo to his lips once more.

~

In the softest hours of the evening, as Patrick was being swallowed by the silence of his apartment, he thought about David. Patrick thought of the way he smiled like he almost wasn’t allowed to or hadn’t learnt how. He recalled the way David tensed up ever so slightly around Sebastien, and how he was being more and more open with Patrick. 

Patrick picked up a pen, and let his soul take creative control.

The next morning, he re-read the sheet of paper, lyrics covering it in the messy 1:00am scrawl. David Rose was the most confusing, unexpected cyclone of a person Patrick had ever met.

He couldn’t wait to see him again.

~

Stay, don't leave, 'cause I got a couple  
Of memories that float into bubble  
And they've stayed with me through oceans and puddles  
So faithfully just waiting for trouble, oh  
But I don't wanna know why you do it  
I don't wanna know, I don't wanna know  
And if you gotta go, then just do it, but I don't wanna know  
Oh I don't wanna know, I don't wanna know  
'Cause all I see falling tomorrow  
Is these apologies, all of 'em hollow  
And when the autumn leaves fall on Toronto  
You can follow me  
And I’ll be Apollo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pulling an all-nighter-dayer in an attempt to fix my sleeping schedule, so obviously it's the perfect time to write...right?
> 
> It's surreal to me that words I've written can be viewed by other people, but I wouldn't have been motivated to keep this story going on my own & I really want to bring it to a satisfying conclusion, so thank you for reading <3
> 
> More to come.


End file.
